Lauren's Dilemma (17 page)

“Hello,
Lauren. Surprised to see me?” Helen’s lips moved into a smile that did nothing
to soften the calculating hardness in her blue eyes.

“Helen!
What are you doing here?” Laurie blinked several times to make sure she wasn’t
hallucinating.

“Put my
things on the verandah, will you?” Helen gave an imperious wave of one hand.
The driver nodded before depositing a trunk and two suitcases near the doorway.

Helen
handed him some money before turning away. “Where's Blair?”

“Out with
the men.”

“Oh.” She
pouted, and Laurie thought there was something cruel about the way her cousin
looked just then.

“Are you
going to invite me in?”

“This is
Mrs. Ferguson, the housekeeper. Fergie, my cousin, Helen Cunningham.”

“Go on,
Lauren tell her who I really am. I'm Blair's fiancée.”

“Mr.
Blair's, fiancée? But...”

“Lauren was
never his fiancée. My dear cousin is staying here under false pretences. Blair
lost his memory, her boyfriend got killed, so she saw a chance to grab up a
rich husband by impersonating me.”

It sounded
shocking the way Helen said it, criminal even, and Laurie cringed.

“It wasn't
like that. You have to believe me, Fergie. It started out as a misunderstanding.”
In a few sentences she explained what happened to the dazed housekeeper.

“Oh my
dear, I know your intentions would have been honorable ones.” There was no
condemnation in her eyes.

“You can
bring my luggage in.” Helen spoke to no one in particular.

She wore a
burgundy velvet suit, simply but beautifully cut, white lace peeking out from
the cuffs and collar. Her boots were suede-topped and matched the suit. Regal
as a queen, she swept inside, leaving Laurie to help Fergie who struggled with
the luggage.

“What a
dull, old-fashioned place.” A petulant droop to her mouth accentuated her
sulkiness. “How could anyone live like this?
 
I know a firm of decorators in Sydney
who do very fine work. They could fix this place up in no time at all.”

The housekeeper
waddled off to make a cup of tea, leaving the two of them in the sitting room.

“What made
you come here?” Laurie asked

“I wanted
to see Blair.”

“Did
you?
 
Why? He's been back from the war
for months. Have your snobby friends in Sydney
grown tired of you?” An angry flush ran up into Helen's face.

“Mother
told me you were here.” Her beautiful features turned ugly. “I've come to tell
Blair the truth.”

“You
can't.
 
The doctors at the hospital sent
for me because they thought I was you. He was sick, blinded, his memory gone.
You have to understand. Please, Helen, don't tell him yet.”

“Why not?”
She gave a malicious smile. “Dear, sweet little Lauren,” she sneered. “Blair
thought you were his fiancée. What will he say when he knows how you tricked
him into bringing you here? That you are living a lie.”

“They said
his memory should come back of its own accord. If you tell him, heaven knows
what could happen. I'm begging you, don't say anything for now,” Laurie
pleaded. She would grovel at Helen's feet if it helped Blair avoid any more
suffering.

Fergie
brought in the tea and some hot donuts. “Will you pour, Miss Laurie, while I
prepare a room for Miss Cunningham.”

The next
two hours were the longest, most uncomfortable Laurie had ever endured. Having
never really disliked anyone before, she came close to hating her selfish,
vain, but oh-so-beautiful cousin.

“Show me
around this place,” Helen commanded.

Go to hell.
Laurie swallowed the words before they left her mouth. No point making things
any worse than they already were.

“Blair will
have to pull the whole place down. He promised to build me a double-storied
house.

The clump
of work boots sounded on the wooden verandah. Laurie froze. Blood raced to her
head. Her heart almost catapulted out of her chest.

Blair
strode into the room, followed by the other two men. To save her life she could
not have moved just then.

“Blair,
darling.” Helen darted across the room.

A tremor
passed through his body. The color drained from his face, leaving it ashen. His
eyes glazed over. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision.

“Helen.”
One word, uttered with agonized longing, pierced Laurie's heart.

The other
men, sensing something amiss, hurriedly made excuses and left the room.

“Laurie,
would you mind explaining what's going on?” Blair asked harshly.

She opened
her mouth to speak, but no words would pass out of her frozen vocal cords.

“Darling,
you can't really blame Lauren for what happened. Her boyfriend got killed, and
you lost your memory. The chance of grabbing herself a rich, handsome husband
proved to be too tempting. I did write, saying I was coming. You should have
got the letter about three weeks ago.”

“It wasn't
like that,” Laurie finally found her voice, but it sounded so husky she barely
recognized it as her own.

Blair's
facial features turned to stone. “You let me think we were engaged? Why you,
you conniving liar.”

She
shivered at the sheer ferocity of him.

“Helen's
letter. Why didn't you give it to me?”

“There was
no letter, I swear it.
 
This is all a
terrible mistake.”

“It’s a
mistake all right,” he snarled, “and you made it.”

“You can't
think I would be contemptible enough to tamper with your mail?”

“Three
weeks,” he said, in a voice as rough as gravel. “That was the night you shared
my bed. Wanted to make sure I'd marry you? Well, you underestimated me,” he
continued, his voice full of loathing. “Even a man with half a memory knows
when he's had sex with a virgin, and you weren't one.”

Even Helen
gasped at this blatant cruelty.

The
excruciating pain of betrayal ripped through her. His venom shocked her so much
she couldn’t find the words to defend herself. Couldn’t ask him why he had
cried out for Helen so soon after making love to her. “I'll leave straight
away, of course.”

“You can
continue staying here until we make some other arrangement. I owe you that
much.”

One part of
Laurie wanted to run away right then and leave him in Helen's clutches; the
other part of her loved him and wanted to save him from further hurt.

Helen
smiled, all charm now, having successfully denigrated Laurie to such an extent
Blair thought of her as a lying, immoral, gold digger.

He was
sweating and pale, only answering Helen in monosyllables, yet his gaze never
left her beautiful face. He ate her up. Several times he rubbed his hand across
his forehead, as if he could not quite comprehend what was happening.

They filed
into the dining room, where Blair held a chair for Helen and did the same for
Laurie, but he was careful, ensuring that there was no bodily contact between
them whatsoever.
 
Did he think contact
with her might somehow contaminate him?

Angus and
Wally filed in, taking their usual spot without uttering a word. Fergie placed
a serving dish on the table.

“I don't
share my table with the hired help,” Helen said. The ensuing silence was
deafening.

“Continue
serving, Fergie.” Blair's voice remained even, but a pulse convulsed at the
side of his throat.

The beef
stew might have been a mud pie. Laurie forced it down her throat. Wally and
Angus, obviously embarrassed, stared at their plates.

Helen, with
a petulant droop to her lips, rudely pushed her food away after a few
mouthfuls. Blair ate morosely, chewing every morsel over carefully. The two
stockmen excused themselves as soon as the meal was finished and left the room.

Laurie
helped Fergie clear away the table. In the kitchen the plump, usually beaming
housekeeper maintained a hurt, puzzled silence.

“I'm so
sorry about everything.” While they prepared the coffee Helen required for her
after-dinner drink, the whole tragic tale poured forth. Before it ended, tears
streamed down Laurie's cheeks.

“You poor
lamb.” The motherly housekeeper hugged her close. “Mr. Blair is a fool if he
marries that one. You’d better join them for coffee now, dear.”

“I
couldn't, thanks. I'll stay here and help with the dishes before I go to bed.”
The shock had started to set in now, leaving her drained and exhausted.

“Very well.
Share a cup of tea here with me if you like.”
 
The housekeeper trundled off, only to return almost immediately.

“Mr. Blair
insists you join them in the sitting room.”

Without a
word Laurie rose from where she was slumped on a chair. Rummaging her fingers
through her untidy hair, she scrubbed the tears away. Blair, instead of sitting
in his usual armchair, now shared the couch with Helen, who rested a dainty
white hand on his knee.

“There you
are, cousin. Have you been crying? See how you upset Lauren by being such a
brute before, Blair? You can't blame a woman for wanting you, darling. You're
so handsome and rich.” Her honeyed tones dripped insincerity. Helen never
worried about anyone else's welfare except her own.

“Where's
your coffee, Laurie?” Blair asked like an over-polite stranger.

“I don't
want any, thanks.” She could not even look at him, in case he read the desperate
hurt in her eyes. Instead, she stared into the fireplace. Every now and again a
log shifted, sending sparks up in little spurts. The room was warm, but had she
been sitting on an iceberg at the North Pole, it could not been colder. Blair
looked positively savage. How he must hate her.

“Would you
both excuse me? I'm feeling rather weary.” Laurie stood up, praying she could
maintain her composure until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom.

A few
minutes later as she lay in bed, the tears slipped through her tightly closed
eyelids. Everything was ruined. It would be better to return home rather than
risk even more heartache, but she couldn’t desert him. She had been working her
way through the trauma of Blair calling out for Helen that night and
 
had almost convinced herself it could have
been an aberration because of his troubled mind.

It didn’t
matter any more. He despised her for the deceit and all the lies, but
nevertheless she did love him. Not the impetuous, youthful love she and Danny
had shared, but a deeper, more mature emotion. I’ll stay until Blair recovers.
Afterwards? She dared not think beyond that point. It would be too agonizing.

* * *

Breakfast
next morning was a solitary one. Laurie slept in late, something she rarely
did. Fergie informed her Blair and Helen had eaten earlier and gone out in the
buggy.

The rain
had stopped, although it still looked dark and sullen outside. Matches my
feelings, she thought. Only one way to cheer herself up, a ride on Bolinda Vale
after she helped Fergie with the housework. They would definitely need a maid
now, with Helen being so demanding. Wanting to be waited on hand and foot.

“Angus and
Wally will be eating in the kitchen from now on,” Fergie said.

“Oh no! I
enjoyed the camaraderie of having my meals with them.” Helen’s snobbery had
ruined that as well.

Laurie
packed some sandwiches so she could have a picnic lunch, as the housework took
longer than usual. It wouldn’t be worth going for a ride if she had to return
for something to eat.

She
couldn’t find any of the men, so she saddled Bolinda Vale herself. Soon they
galloped across the paddocks. Normally, the wind whipping by exhilarated her.
Not today. There was just an overwhelming emptiness.

The creek,
a little more swollen than normal, because of recent rain, rushed noisily
by.
 
She tethered the filly to a bush and
then took a piece of sacking out of her saddlebag to sit on. Her surroundings
were peaceful, but she picked at the sandwich, discarding it after a few bites.
The way I feel at the moment, I wouldn’t care if I never ate again.

The trees
swayed, whispering in the wind. A kookaburra laughed from somewhere close by.
Glad someone has something to laugh about. Few people could feel as miserable
as her. She squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate endeavor to lock out the
pain.

“Laurie,
Laurie.
 
Don't be sad or frightened. I’ll
always watch out for you.” The muffled words drifted on the breeze.

“Danny?”
She opened her eyes and glanced around. The landscape was empty.

When she
remounted Bolinda Vale she kept a loose hold on the reins, and they meandered
along, while she pondered on this voice from the grave. It had to be a product
of her overwrought imagination. She dared not think of what else it could be. A
large blob of rain plopped onto her face.